Long Wandered Poems
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International Dog Day was yesterday and as I watched people celebrate with photos and good cheer…my mind wandered back to our dog, Whitman, who, unfortunately, is no longer here.
Memories of Whitman in my mind…quickly magnified…as I remembered the life he lived…until the day he died.
I looked through old photos that captured beautiful moments…wonderful days…and I was thankful how these memories are never far away.
I love how some of our memories lie dormant…as if shrouded in a fog…and how, once the fog has lifted, we find memories of our dogs.
And such is the wonder of memories…as out of the fog they climb…that our heart can be filled with sorrow…and happiness…at exactly the same time.
Like how as each memory reveals itself…when it gives our minds a peek…a smile lights up our face…as a tear runs down our cheek.
I wonder if dogs weren’t created…if that wasn’t part of the Creator’s plan
to teach us life is short and we should grab as many memories as we can.
There are two wonderful curiosities that occur with dogs and their owners…
a kind of space/time aberration.
It’s something we all understand…that needs no explanation…
The first…and here I’m sure any dog owner would agree…
Is how our dogs…who love us no matter what…become members of our family.
I believe Whitman was the best dog in the world…
on this my feelings are strong…
I imagine every dog owner thinks the same…
And the second wonderful curiosity is…
none of us are wrong.
I was walking along the path
With full eyesight in tact
Discovering nouns and verbs
Conjoined as presented fact
Things were fine, til they weren't
And I began to question
If there were common laws
A weary soul could rest in
The more I wondered, I wandered
Hither and yon, searching for....what!?!
I'm certain I appeared whackadoodle
Throwing out ideas and systems that just could NOT
....answer
Through all the sifting and mixing
I baked myself a right good mess
Then I threw out my heart's desire
"Where can a spiritual heart enter a natural rest?"
LOVE came to me in the form of man
And gave me His hand to take
I hesitated with terror
"What if I follow and you find 'I' am a mistake?"
He entreated me to move in trust
Allowing all things to work out in process
The more He revealed about LOVE and life
The more I was left to guess
...through shattered lens
Did I see what I think I saw
Was what I saw based in preconceived notion
Shall I run along the laid out track
Or leave all habit for unwavering devotion
Something about habit that is appealing
At least one can feel safe....for a while
But once TRUTH is revealed, in the open
You can accept, or enter "duh nile"
Though images pass, and insecurities emerge
Through shards of broken glass
I am learning to look for movement, only
Never reaching to hold in a stolen grasp
...an eternal GOD
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10/05/2019
WARNING: Saguaro
I wandered e'er so stiffly, speaking to loneliness,
Got dead to desire at the start, deaf to silence,
This remained an arduous journey of despair,
Beneath a broad unforgiving expensive sky,
Destitute, I went hither, on equal ground,
Dreamt damp beds per sensitive trudge,
Last marrow withered essence within,
Cracked, my breath spit out sounds,
Standing, midst heaven and earth,
Nature projects, outline a mirage,
It grew to each wavering vapor,
Beautiful flower be it so trivial,
Blinded via the desert heat,
I know it to be, delighted,
I rush in haste to hug it,
And last of my depth,
In its touch of me,
I didst bleed out,
Penitent pose,
As life flees,
Gist of me,
Knelt I,
Dies.
2020 February 26
*3rd Place*
Warning
~~Richard Lamoureux
The world does believe in this mysterious creature
To prove its existence, some into dangerous spots did even venture
But hey, would you believe that falsely do I pretend
If I told you that the Bigfoot does live close by, on my island!
Yes, it does reside here
It is even my wonderful peer
Here, in the island of Mauritius
An island with a magical meaning, always making it so precious!
I saw it first when I was out for a trip
Into the dense forests did I dare walk in
Hoping to find maybe an iceberg, even its very tip
Hoping even to meet with a nice jhin
I was out with a crowd
Drunk, they did sing loud
So much that I felt fed up
And wandered away from the prescribed step
That was then I came face to face with the bigfoot
It was tall, dark, and furry
It had teeth which snarled dangerously
And its face looked as if it was covered with soot
It looked at me and I looked at it
I was about to scream
But it chose to share with me, its food, even if only a bit
I loved it right there, and I chose to give him Mystic as name
Why, I know not how it came to my island
Maybe it did escape from some other land
Maybe it has lived here since eons
Why, what matters is that now we are great friends
Every week, I do go to pay it a visit
Of course, its existence is yet a secret
None except me does know that I am friends with a bigfoot
None except me and my wonderful friend!
But hey, I was indeed surprised
Holy cow! It's the bigfoot
Knowing that my friend is greatly prized
Why, I shall keep my secret to myself!
In the hush of twilight's purple bloom,
I wandered, where the old oaks loom,
On All Hallows' Eve, in masquerade,
With a bag in hand, through the mist I waded.
The streets were lined with jack-o'-lanterns' glow,
Their toothy grins seemed to leer and know,
The secrets of the night, the whispers of the dead,
As I trick-or-treated, a shivering thread.
The houses stood, some dark, some bright,
Some welcoming, others a blight,
I approached the one, they said was cursed,
Where the old witch lived, or so the legend versed.
Her door creaked open, a silent plea,
To accept her treat, or face her glee,
A candy black as the darkest pit,
I took it in my hand, and felt terror hit.
The night turned cold, the stars blinked out,
My heart pounded with an eerie shout,
The candy in my bag began to thrash,
As if alive, a sound like glass.
I ran through yards, past ghosts and ghouls,
The candy's writhing made me drool with fear,
Home at last, I threw the bag aside,
But what I saw when I looked inside...
A shadow rose, a figure so grim,
It spoke in rhymes, its voice so dim,
"A trick for your treat, a soul for a soul,
For on this night, you've played your role."
It reached for me, its fingers cold,
Its eyes like empty pits, a sight to behold,
I screamed and woke, it was but a dream,
Or so it seemed, in the moon's soft beam.
For on my floor, the candy lay still,
A gift from the witch, a haunted will,
And as I watched, it moved with a lurch,
Trick-or-treating's horror had surfaced from the murk.
In the depths of longing, my heart does dwell,
Seeking solace in words I must now tell.
A chapter closed, yet echoes still remain,
I find myself yearning to speak again.
Oh, ex-wife of mine, our paths now diverged,
But destiny's threads have yet to be purged.
There are matters crucial, pressing and grave,
That demand our attention, a chance to save.
With trepidation, I approach the past's gate,
To converse with you, dear soul, I cannot wait.
Important issues, like whispers in the breeze,
Yearn for resolution, for our souls' release.
Emotions rise like tempests in the night,
But beneath it all, a glimmer of insight.
For once, we shared a love that was profound,
A bond that, though broken, can still be found.
Let us cast aside the anger and regret,
And summon the empathy we won't forget.
The weight of our words holds power untold,
To bridge the chasms and heal hearts grown cold.
In this fragile dance, vulnerability blooms,
As we navigate the silence and the gloom.
Though scars may linger, etched upon our souls,
Let understanding guide us toward new goals.
In the realm of discourse, let patience befriend,
For we must speak with love, not just to defend.
Each word a thread, weaving a tapestry rare,
To mend what's broken, to show that we still care.
And so, ex-wife of mine, let us converse,
With openness, forgiveness, and words rehearsed.
On this journey, we'll find closure and release,
A chance for healing, a pathway to inner peace.
For in these moments, where we face the past,
Our souls may find a peace that's meant to last.
And though our paths have wandered far apart,
May understanding bind our wounded hearts.
So, let us talk, ex-wife, with hearts set free,
Discovering the strength in vulnerability.
For in the tapestry of our shared strife,
Lies the possibility of a new chapter in life.
In veiled gardens where dew-kissed petals first unfold,
Love’s silent scrolls belong to emerald blades untrod,
To blossoms sealed in morning’s virgin gold,
Not fields once wandered by the reckless, wayward god.
The opened rose, its nectar spilled and claimed,
Merits no fragrant quill, no heart’s shy plea;
Its secrets shared, its mystery untamed
Let faded stems stand silent, set them free.
Yet stranger still, when iron warriors bend the knee,
Conquered before the fray, their banners furled;
No lion yields his throne to whispered decree,
No true flame bows where softer shadows rule the world.
This borrowed veil from silver screens and painted lies,
Has chained the oak to ivy’s creeping hold;
Now western winds bear songs of veiled disguise,
Where once proud eagles knelt to doves of gold.
The ancient forge grows cold in yielding sighs,
Steel softened into pleas beneath moonlit skies.
What shadowed bloom when blades forget their bite
Scrolls to the gathered rose, surrender in the night.
Everyone knew who He was and the things He had done
Around Him there was a great buzz nor would Jesus shun
Everywhere where He went the crowds continued to seek
So many came to repent in simply hearing Jesus Speak
Lepers from afar shouted, the blind crying out His Name
All those who ever doubted could feel their own shame
The sick would seek Him out even the lost wandered by
Each fighting a different bout as none of us could deny
He feed them and so often He cured but that isn't the end
One thing you can be assured your heart will finally mend
As it was for our sins He died for nothing else would suffice
Piercing God's only Son's Side for YOU Jesus paid that price
Not only did He cure the sick but He gave life to the dead
For everything that afflicts just listen to what Jesus said
For it is by faith alone, lest there be boasting by anyone
In all the Glory He has shown the Greatest His only Son
I can feel Van Gogh’s pain his misery
His need to be loved and yet create chaos
To chase love away to be left in pain and self-pity
I don’t know why I am like the way I am
A painting on a canvass
with strokes that constantly collide
If I said I lived a sinless life I’d be lying I need forgiveness
Death circles around me like a predator
It is restless but I have hope
My fiery imagination lives by faith it has too
Hope sees the third morning an empty tomb
recently occupied now angels sitting greeting visitors
Jacob camped with angels like old friends
Elijah was touched by an angel not once but twice
Perhaps I shook hands with an angel my soul knew
The tomb was empty thank God
On my way home I wandered away like a child
but the Shepherd came looking for me
found me and carried me on His shoulders
like He would a lamb going home
Frank Black Blacharczyk
...As the years went by Nick’s playing
came less often, as he wandered,
he just became a vagabond,
going to almshouses in winter.
That’s how he came to Watertown
in the sad last year of his life,
they say he didn’t play at all,
many felt pity at his plight.
There even was a well-dressed man,
white-haired, and getting on in years,
who came looking for Nick Goodall,
and in that sad poorhouse appeared.
They say he took Nick’s violin,
and played it so the notes were heard,
said, “Nick, don’t you remember this?
And how we played it together?”
Nick then took up the violin,
and ones more played beautiful airs,
some say the man was his father,
he was never seen again there.
Why Goodall died, nobody knows,
he was given a pauper’s grave,
some folk looked at his violin
to understand how well he played.
But they found nothing special there,
the viol was a common kind,
the beauty that he’d drawn from it
was born out of his troubled mind.
After he died they raised money,
for a grave, he had been broke, of course,
in local folklore Nick remains:
The Mad Fiddler of the North.